Earlier this afternoon, realizing the morose tone of my earlier post, I was going to write an addendum listing some of the wonderful things going on this summer. Tonight I don't feel like posting that. I'll write that tomorrow ... maybe.
The Waldo Canyon wildfire has reached neighborhoods where friends and family of mine live. I'm not in danger. No one I know is in danger. The city isn't in danger of going up in flames ... but my goodness, this is so hard to watch.
Can't state it strongly enough - the pit of my stomach worry and anxiety and sadness.
My dear friends who aren't in your homes - I'm praying for you. I love you.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Strange days
The last few days have felt rather strange, and my mind is bouncing around, oddly moved by images and sounds around me. Is it missing Dad? Is it the unusually hot weather? Is it the apocalyptic fire burning to the west, threatening neighborhoods in the city?
Not sure what it is; regardless, I find myself worn out but having trouble resting as images and feelings well up in me and then subside into the background. Here are a few of the things that are pulling at my heartstrings...
-----------------------------
For the last 4 days there has been smoke rising from the very nearby mountains - a wildfire that you might have heard about on the news. It is stunning, striking to see these billowing pillars of smoke rising, at night to see the flames erupt like incendiary bombs, to know that there are hundreds of men and women dressed in heavy, heat-protective gear, simmering in the blistering heat we've had for over a week. They toil in 16 hour shifts, coming off the front lines to eat and rest. I can imagine them quietly cheering on their comrades in smoke-roughened voices. Meanwhile, we sit in the comfort of our homes and watch the news, complaining about the heat, holding cold drinks, under the turning of fans. They fight for our neighborhoods closest to the mountains.
Tim and I just last weekend took a long drive through the area of what was known as the Hayman Fire - a wildfire that burned 138,114 acres from June 8 - July 18, 2002. The days of that fire seemed to go on and on. We got tired of hearing about it, we wearied of the news updates, but it sat in the back of our minds, knowing all those men and women were working so hard, knowing that the face of those familiar mountains would be altered for the remainder of our lives.
But there's good news from these fires, too, albeit small comfort. The hills that were so violently bereft of their beautiful pine forests in conflagration are just a few years later covered with small, but densely gathered aspen trees that in just a few more years will be amazing forests. And in time, the pines will return, and in a 100 years they will once crowd out the aspens. Meanwhile, the damage done is healing. The baby pines are springing up. The wildlife is returning. The wildflowers are creeping back onto the hillsides.
That will happen in Waldo Canyon, too. Meanwhile, we watch the flames and wait. It is surreal. At times it is downright creepy. And friends who live on the far western side of town are on pins and needles listening for reported shifts in the wind and evacuation orders. A strange time.
-----------------------------
I've been listening to a lot of Foo Fighters music (a rock 'n' roll band, for those of you over 40) ;-). I love the passion with which these guys play. I love the mix of love, anger, joy in their music. I love knowing a little bit of where they've come from and the journey they've been on. Take a listen to this song if you're interested. (This YouTube video is from a live performance - please forgive the bad language; skip the first 1:20 and you'll miss most of it...)
www.youtube.com/watch?v=CC9knDTlc-Y
-----------------------------
And every time I lie down to rest, memories of my dad are filling my head. I remember what his hands felt like. I remember the soft, thick hair on his arms. I remember his voice. I remember how loved by him I felt. I remember his laugh. I remember. And then tears fill my eyes, my breathing becomes ragged, and Egg complains at the interruption in his sleep.
It was 2 years last week since Dad died, so no wonder these memories are flooding in. No wonder my heart is seeking music that makes me feel, that expresses the joy, love, frustration, anger, sadness, emptiness that these memories bring. No wonder.
Strange days, indeed.
Not sure what it is; regardless, I find myself worn out but having trouble resting as images and feelings well up in me and then subside into the background. Here are a few of the things that are pulling at my heartstrings...
-----------------------------
For the last 4 days there has been smoke rising from the very nearby mountains - a wildfire that you might have heard about on the news. It is stunning, striking to see these billowing pillars of smoke rising, at night to see the flames erupt like incendiary bombs, to know that there are hundreds of men and women dressed in heavy, heat-protective gear, simmering in the blistering heat we've had for over a week. They toil in 16 hour shifts, coming off the front lines to eat and rest. I can imagine them quietly cheering on their comrades in smoke-roughened voices. Meanwhile, we sit in the comfort of our homes and watch the news, complaining about the heat, holding cold drinks, under the turning of fans. They fight for our neighborhoods closest to the mountains.
Tim and I just last weekend took a long drive through the area of what was known as the Hayman Fire - a wildfire that burned 138,114 acres from June 8 - July 18, 2002. The days of that fire seemed to go on and on. We got tired of hearing about it, we wearied of the news updates, but it sat in the back of our minds, knowing all those men and women were working so hard, knowing that the face of those familiar mountains would be altered for the remainder of our lives.
But there's good news from these fires, too, albeit small comfort. The hills that were so violently bereft of their beautiful pine forests in conflagration are just a few years later covered with small, but densely gathered aspen trees that in just a few more years will be amazing forests. And in time, the pines will return, and in a 100 years they will once crowd out the aspens. Meanwhile, the damage done is healing. The baby pines are springing up. The wildlife is returning. The wildflowers are creeping back onto the hillsides.
That will happen in Waldo Canyon, too. Meanwhile, we watch the flames and wait. It is surreal. At times it is downright creepy. And friends who live on the far western side of town are on pins and needles listening for reported shifts in the wind and evacuation orders. A strange time.
-----------------------------
I've been listening to a lot of Foo Fighters music (a rock 'n' roll band, for those of you over 40) ;-). I love the passion with which these guys play. I love the mix of love, anger, joy in their music. I love knowing a little bit of where they've come from and the journey they've been on. Take a listen to this song if you're interested. (This YouTube video is from a live performance - please forgive the bad language; skip the first 1:20 and you'll miss most of it...)
www.youtube.com/watch?v=CC9knDTlc-Y
-----------------------------
And every time I lie down to rest, memories of my dad are filling my head. I remember what his hands felt like. I remember the soft, thick hair on his arms. I remember his voice. I remember how loved by him I felt. I remember his laugh. I remember. And then tears fill my eyes, my breathing becomes ragged, and Egg complains at the interruption in his sleep.
It was 2 years last week since Dad died, so no wonder these memories are flooding in. No wonder my heart is seeking music that makes me feel, that expresses the joy, love, frustration, anger, sadness, emptiness that these memories bring. No wonder.
Strange days, indeed.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Bittersweet
There's finally a bird in my bird bath! I've had this beautiful piece of pottery in my front yard for at least 2 years, and today is the first time I've seen a bird in it. Wonderful! He was squirming and puttering around getting himself good and wet. Small joys. :)
Today is Tim and my 21st anniversary. We've been quite lackadaisical about celebrating our anniversaries, but something has changed inside me. I don't want to be that casual anymore. I don't want to put it off. I want to make an occasion out of it.
This morning I remembered why.
Today is the day (in 2010) that Dad was diagnosed.
Since that event, my brain has wanted Tim and I to make a bigger deal out of our anniversary. It's as if there's scale inside my heart, and if we celebrate in a special way, the anniversary side of the scale will outweigh the sadness side of the scale, remembering what today was like 2 years ago.
I'm not sure that's quite fair to Tim - to expect him to be able to tip the balance of the scale, but I'm sure each year will feel a little easier, and then someday, today will once again just be our anniversary.
There are other lovely things in the "good" column, too.
I have a new niece - Aubrey Hope. Can't wait to see her! Sadly, I'm not sure when that will be, but until that time we have Facebook. ;-D
My garden is growing nicely - pumpkins, cucumbers, green beans, yellow beans, tomatoes, carrots, the last of the spring radishes (2 of which I'm letting go to seed and, to my delight, they have beautiful purple flowers!), snap peas, yellow summer squash, and all kinds of herbs. Come July I expect a bounty of vegetables! :-)
My wildflower garden was a tremendous success. Minimum effort; maximum result. Amazing! Pictures will be posted soon - I promise.
Despite the sad memories now associated with June 15, I am proud and pleased as punch to celebrate Tim and my anniversary. We remain best friends, we actually still like each other, we rejoice in our love, we laugh a lot together. Our marriage has been a blessed one, and we've faced our challenges head-on - struggles with family issues, childlessness, illness, job troubles, money troubles, relationships exploding around us. I'm so thankful for Tim, for the thing that is "Tim and me", and for the life we share.
So today is bittersweet, but I sit on my porch watching that robin splash and cool himself in the little sanctuary that is my front yard, and it is a delight to my heart.
Today is Tim and my 21st anniversary. We've been quite lackadaisical about celebrating our anniversaries, but something has changed inside me. I don't want to be that casual anymore. I don't want to put it off. I want to make an occasion out of it.
This morning I remembered why.
Today is the day (in 2010) that Dad was diagnosed.
Since that event, my brain has wanted Tim and I to make a bigger deal out of our anniversary. It's as if there's scale inside my heart, and if we celebrate in a special way, the anniversary side of the scale will outweigh the sadness side of the scale, remembering what today was like 2 years ago.
I'm not sure that's quite fair to Tim - to expect him to be able to tip the balance of the scale, but I'm sure each year will feel a little easier, and then someday, today will once again just be our anniversary.
There are other lovely things in the "good" column, too.
I have a new niece - Aubrey Hope. Can't wait to see her! Sadly, I'm not sure when that will be, but until that time we have Facebook. ;-D
My garden is growing nicely - pumpkins, cucumbers, green beans, yellow beans, tomatoes, carrots, the last of the spring radishes (2 of which I'm letting go to seed and, to my delight, they have beautiful purple flowers!), snap peas, yellow summer squash, and all kinds of herbs. Come July I expect a bounty of vegetables! :-)
My wildflower garden was a tremendous success. Minimum effort; maximum result. Amazing! Pictures will be posted soon - I promise.
Despite the sad memories now associated with June 15, I am proud and pleased as punch to celebrate Tim and my anniversary. We remain best friends, we actually still like each other, we rejoice in our love, we laugh a lot together. Our marriage has been a blessed one, and we've faced our challenges head-on - struggles with family issues, childlessness, illness, job troubles, money troubles, relationships exploding around us. I'm so thankful for Tim, for the thing that is "Tim and me", and for the life we share.
So today is bittersweet, but I sit on my porch watching that robin splash and cool himself in the little sanctuary that is my front yard, and it is a delight to my heart.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Cotton
It was snowing in Denver today - great clouds of cotton from the cottonwood trees. It had gathered in clumps on the ground, collecting like little snowballs and it made me smile to see these little blobs floating down around me.
I was heading home after a rewarding but tiring weekend, and the next week and a half facing me are not going to bring much rest, either. I have a feeling this isn't going to be a very relaxing summer, but I'm hoping it will be a fun one.
I need to remember what I saw this afternoon - the small clouds of cotton lazily making their way through the air, the beauty of the green leaves, the blue sky.
I need to remember how I felt - peaceful, somehow comforted.
As I face busy days and weeks, and as they pass by, I need to take moments to sit quietly, to watch the bees in my flower garden, to weed my vegetable beds, to read, to walk quietly through woods. I need to read and nap. I need to peel vegetables while sitting out on my deck in the early evening light. I need to drink a glass of wine in the backyard with friends. I need to face one day at a time and float through my summer like the cotton of the cottonwood trees.
I was heading home after a rewarding but tiring weekend, and the next week and a half facing me are not going to bring much rest, either. I have a feeling this isn't going to be a very relaxing summer, but I'm hoping it will be a fun one.
I need to remember what I saw this afternoon - the small clouds of cotton lazily making their way through the air, the beauty of the green leaves, the blue sky.
I need to remember how I felt - peaceful, somehow comforted.
As I face busy days and weeks, and as they pass by, I need to take moments to sit quietly, to watch the bees in my flower garden, to weed my vegetable beds, to read, to walk quietly through woods. I need to read and nap. I need to peel vegetables while sitting out on my deck in the early evening light. I need to drink a glass of wine in the backyard with friends. I need to face one day at a time and float through my summer like the cotton of the cottonwood trees.
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